


Out Of the Blue

by ashlooloo



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Multi, Sirens, siren!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23093062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashlooloo/pseuds/ashlooloo
Summary: Chloe Decker is having strange dreams about the ocean. After meeting a chaotic witness who claims to be the Devil (Oh yeah, and a /merman/, in a murder / animal smuggling homicide, she's beginning to think dreams are the least of her problems.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 19
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi welcome to self indulgence: the fanfic. gonna be a long ass multi-chapter case fic with siren!lucifer, told from chloes POV.

She’s adrift, again. Lost somewhere in an open water column, futilely trying to escape the vastness of an ocean unmarred by landmarks. It’s the same dream she’s been having for almost a month now; her lucidity extending only to the awareness of her unconscious state.

Her alarm blares to life, the once unwelcome sound now bringing relief as she fully wakes from her nightmare. She slowly sits, rubbing a hand down her face, breathing through a heavy mixture of dread and apprehension. She stifles the feeling, and gets ready for work.

* * *

She’s assigned to assess a case almost immediately after coming in to work. Grateful for the distraction, she drives to a cheap looking warehouse. The warehouse is huge from the outside, darkish brown with a pleated metal roof and dark windows. It’s dilapidated and hidden from the road, in a rare unpopulated pocket of LA.

She steps inside and blinks. The warehouse is filled to the brim with tanks, enormous saltwater tanks containing all kinds of no doubt illicit marine life. She notices there are even porpoises crammed into one. She shivers as the smell of brine hits her nose, and she walks toward the police tape securing a body. The first officer at the scene has already begun recording data, and acknowledges her with a brief nod as she lifts the police tape and steps inside.

The body is lying face down, and belongs to that of what appears to be a young woman. Her blonde hair is tied in a loose ponytail with a rubber band, her nails are worn down to the finger, and the back of her head is obscured by thick, coagulated blood. Just at a glance Chloe can tell she was shot in the back of the head, possibly at point blank range.

Chloe crouches down, putting on gloves and peering closer. She talks as she begins to mark bits of evidence, “Anything so far, Ella?”.

Ella, alreadying taking pictures of the scene, frowns and shakes her head, “Nada! I’d say time of death was about 8 hours ago, and I can’t say for sure until I get an autopsy report, but I’d put my money on ‘single shot to the back of the head’. Blam.” She gestures to her temple with her pointer and middle fingers, mimicking a gun.

“Do we know who the vic is?” Chloe asks.

Ella nods, “Sandra O’Shea. 29, A cashier at Target and night school attendee. Initial sources are saying she got involved in exotic animal smuggling a couple months ago with her boyfriend, Zeke Brucker.”

Chloe addresses another officer at the scene, “Put a BOLO out on Zeke, and get three officers to canvas the area. I want him in custody ASAP.”

Ella shoots another photo as Chloe stands back up. She takes out her notepad and a pen, scribbling notes and a sketch of the crime scene. She’s about to ask Ella if there are any known witnesses (though she doubts there are, due to the remoteness of the location), when she sees an EMT walk past, carrying a supply kit. _First responder?_ , she thought, _that’s strange. Usually they would’ve left the scene by now. Unless someone was hurt?_ Her line of sight follows where the EMT left, her perplexity evident. Ella perks up upon noticing her expression, and before Chloe can retrace the EMT’s steps, she says, “Oh, there’s one eye witness. He’s claiming to have seen the whole thing, but. . .”, she bites her lip a bit as she trails off.

Chloe furrows her brow, “But?”, she prompts.

“But I think he’s pretty rattled. EMTs are saying he must be in some state of shock. Apparently he keeps going on and on about being a merman”, Ella says.

Chloe sighs and rubs her forehead. She supposes that all the fish tanks combined with the trauma of witnessing a murder could coalescse into something akin to the The Little Mermaid. Still, oddly specific, she thinks, and just her luck to have an unreliable key witness.

Cutting her losses, she makes her way past several empty tanks, taking a turn to the right where she saw the EMT leave from. The area she’s in is small, surrounded by tanks on both her right and left side. Another EMT and officer are standing in front of a bench pushed up against the concrete wall.

The officer walks over and meets her in the middle, briefly widening his eyes and eye rolling with a subtle nod in the direction of the bench, as if to say, “LA weirdos, am I right?”. She suppresses a snort. She approaches the witness with her notepad in hand. 

He’s sitting on the bench by the wall. The first thing she notices is that he’s soaking wet, but his clothes are almost completely dry. His hair is dark and sticking to his forehead, but already beginning to form into telltale curls. He’s wearing a t-shirt three sizes too big, with a logo of a hermit crab and “SHELL YEAH BEACHES” printed obnoxiously on the chest. He’s wearing cargo shorts and no shoes. The second thing she notices is that he clearly has the EMT wrapped around his little finger.

The EMT is a young woman with kinky brown hair and dusty freckles; she’s giggling breathlessly and her cheeks are colored with blush as the witness grins up at her.

Chloe clears her throat to get his attention, but softens her tone before she speaks. _Probably in shock_ , she reminds herself. “Hello, sir. My name is Chloe Decker, I’m a detective with the LAPD’s homicide unit. What’s your name?”

He regards her with a smirk, “Lucifer Morningstar, pleasure to meet you, Detective”.

She pauses, mouth slightly agape. Named after the devil, and a Brit living in L.A.? She catches herself and tries to continue unperturbed, “Is that. .a stage name?”.

He shrugs with a smile, “God given, I’m afraid”. The EMT wraps a shock blanket around his shoulders as he speaks, then starts packing up her bag. She gives Chloe a quick nod and a sympathetic thumbs up as she turns the corner, out of sight.

“I need to ask you a few questions about what you saw”, she says, “can you try to answer them for me?”.

He nods, shrugging the blanket off, “Of course, but I doubt you’ll believe most of what I say”.

“Can you give me a timeline of the events that occurred leading up to Sandra’s death?”, she asks.

“Well, I saw our dear Sandra last night, as I have every other night for the past three weeks. She maintains the tanks, you see. Things like pH and salinity”, he says, “She was just about to reach my tank when I heard that door over there open”. He points in the direction of a door with a glowing red exit sign above it.

Chloe takes the moment to break eye contact and write a few notes. She’s struggling to decide what route to go with her questioning when Lucifer continues.

“Some chap walked in wearing a hoodie, sneakers, and a baseball cap. He spent some time looking around the tanks, I think. Then he snuck up behind her and shot her in the head with a handgun. Seemed rather panicked after he did, though”, he says.

He frowns and furrows his brow, “I tried to warn her, but by the time I realized what was happening, it was too late”.

Chloe nods along as he talks, and gives him a sympathetic look, though her suspicions are starting to mount. He could’ve easily washed gunshot residue off his hands, being that he’s soaked. “Mr. Morningstar, the time of death is estimated to be at 2:30am, but we didn’t receive a call until 8:35am this morning, and it was from the warehouse’s owner. Can you confirm your whereabouts during that time? And why didn’t you call for medical aid after witnessing the murder?”, she asks evenly.

He scoffs, “Well clearly I was here the entire time! In that tank over there”, he says, pointing to a smaller tank filled with sand, coral, and a few tropical fish. “And I didn’t call anyone because I don’t have a bloody phone”.

Chloe glances at the tank he pointed to and nods, “Right. What were you doing in the tank?”

“Planning my escape”, he says simply.

She nods again, this time more slowly, trying to cue him to keep going.

He gives an exasperated huff, as if frustrated that he has to explain, “I was captured by humans and made to live in that dingy little fish bowl until you lot came along. I wanted to leave, but up until two nights ago, this place was crawling with armed thugs. Usually not a problem for me, but I admit I’m not the best at fighting above sea level”.

_Weird doesn’t even begin to describe this guy_ , she thinks. There are dozens of questions buzzing in her head that she wants to ask, but she forces herself to focus on the case, “This man that shot Sandra, did you get a good look at him?”.

He shakes his head, “I have excellent night vision, but he had his hood up and his cap tilted down. But from what I could see, he looked like a poster child for an anti methamphetamine campaign”.

She raises her brow and looks at him.

“Generic caucasian male in his late 20s with more fingers than teeth”, he quips.

“Ah”, she says. She jots down a few more notes, and then pockets her notepad. “Alright Mr. Morningstar, I’m going to have to escort you back to the precinct for further questioning. We’ll have someone try to confirm your alibi in the meantime”.

He looks up at her silently, with the blackest irises she’s ever seen, his gleeful demeanor gone in a moment. She feels the hairs on the back of her neck rising, skin breaking out into goosebumps— and just like that, he cocks his head to the side, the predatory look replaced by what she can only describe as playful curiosity.

“Lead the way, Detective”, he purrs.

She blinks, and takes a quiet, shuddering breath. Had she imagined that? Realizing he’s looking up at her expectantly, she blurts, “Sure! I mean, right, yeah. Uhm, follow me, I can take you to the precinct”.

He stands, and she just now notices how much height he has on her. She turns away quickly and starts walking, but she only makes it two steps before she hears a loud thud and a grunt of pain behind her.

She turns around to see Lucifer getting up off the floor. He manages to stand, but his legs are shaking badly. She opens her mouth to ask if he’s okay, but he takes one step forward and abruptly sinks to his knees, his long legs awkwardly splayed out on either side.

She rushes over and kneels beside him, “Do you need me to call the EMTs back?”, she asks.

He chuckles, “What? Oh no, no, I’m perfectly fine! It’s just been such a long time since I’ve had to walk”.

“. . .Right”, she says slowly, “Well, why don’t I get you a wheelchair? Until you. .remember how”.

He seems to consider it for a few moments. “Fine, I suppose that would be helpful. For now”, he concedes.

She nods and quickly runs back to the EMTs, who are wrapping up a report to one of the recording officers. It doesn’t take long for her to procure a cheap, but sturdy wheelchair. She manages to maneuver through the bustling crowd of investigators and fish tanks back to Lucifer.

“Do you need help standing up—”, she asks, as he promptly stands and plops himself back down in the chair. 

Testing it, he rolls the wheels back and forth a little, “Ooh, this could be fun”, he says.

She shakes her head and takes the handles of the chair, steering him back toward the crime scene, but slows as they approach. She doesn’t want to expose him to the body again. Granted, he hasn’t seemed particularly bothered, and in fact, seems preoccupied with trying to make his drying hair lie straight.

She stops just to be safe, and looks at him. “Hey, I need to finish my report and let the recording officer know we’re leaving. I’ll be right back, stay put”, she says, motioning for someone to watch him.

He calls something out to her as she walks off, but she ignores it.

She’s almost halfway into her report when the recording officer, Mose, gives her a funny look. After a brief glance down at herself and seeing nothing, she looks over her shoulder behind her. Nothing. Confused, she turns back to the officer when she finally notices Lucifer, sitting in his chair by her left side. He looks up at her with what most would think of as an innocent look, but years of being a mother have taught her not to trust.

She laughs a bit, trying to ease the tension. Mose looks unimpressed. “Nosy witnesses, ahah, am I right?”, she says.

Mose pushes her glasses up, “Detective Decker, could you remove the witness?”, she asks primly.

Chloe nods, pushing Lucifer back to the spot he was at before, talking quietly in his ear as she does. “Look, I understand you’ve gone through something traumatic, but you need to stay put until I’m done, okay?”.

He scoffs, “Hardly! I’ve seen much worse, and Detective, if you’re worried you’re going to color my biases, I can assure you your department has already done so”, he says.

She drops her jaw, quickly combing through the morning. “How- How so?”

“I have very good hearing. I overheard that overeager lab tech mention Sandra’s boyfriend, Zeke. The officer by the jellyfish tank just confirmed all the security camera data has been wiped and destroyed. And that officer over there just called for ballistics, I’m guessing he found the bullet?”, he says.

Chloe can only stare. Sure, he could have heard Ella mention Zeke before she got to the scene, but she hasn’t heard anything about the camera footage or ballistics yet. _Maybe he does have good hearing. Really, really, really good hearing_ , she thinks.

“Just- stay here, okay? I’ll come get you when it’s time to go”, she says and walks back over to Mose.

She fills her in on everything, perhaps a little too quickly. She shoots a glance over her shoulder at Lucifer, who perks up and waves at her. She rolls her eyes and turns back to face Mose. Clearing her throat, she says, “Hey, uhm. .do we have anything from ballistics yet? Or any news about security footage?”.

“Preliminary investigation is showing that all the security footage has been wiped. We’ll see if we can have cyber restore it, but for now we’re SOL. Rodger just put in a call to ballistics”.

Chloe nods distractedly. Rodger was the officer Lucifer gestured to when he mentioned hearing a request for ballistics. She shoves her growing mix of curiosity and anxiety down and walks back over to him, steering him toward one of the exits.

He practically preens at her frustrated expression. “It bothers you, doesn’t it?”, he asks.

“What bothers me?”, she replies.

“That you can’t figure me out. The answer is simple, really, but I expect you’ll twist yourself into a pretzel before accepting the truth”, he says.

She sighs and pushes him outside. He blinks in the sudden harsh sun and raises a hand to shield his eyes.

“And what truth would that be”, she states, more than questions.

“That I’m the devil," he says, ”I honestly don’t know where you humans got the whole winged, feathery angel bit from. We've always been sirens”.

“Oh, really? So the biblical devil is actually a British merman who was captured by an LA smuggling operation?”, she questions sarcastically. Her patience is wearing thin, and her key witness is rapidly losing credibility. Not to mention she’s certain at this point that he’s not in shock. Shock doesn’t look like whatever this is.

“Yes, though I'm not actually British. I’ve had many accents over the years, but this one is clearly the best,” he says.

“Aren’t sirens supposed to have tails?”, she asks dryly.

“They do! I’m only in this form for convenience”.

She reaches her car and opens the door to the back, gesturing for him to get in. “The precinct will have another chair you can use”, she says.

He looks at her gleefully, “Oh, is this your car? I’m riding with you?”, he asks, though he clearly knows the answer.

She gives him a look. He stands, shakily, and manages to sit in the backseat. She gets in and starts pulling out of the lot when she notices— “Seatbelt on”, she says.

He looks at the belt like he’s never seen one before. Then, recognition dawns. “Ah, they look so different now! Much more sleek”, he says, clicking it into place after some struggle.

She’s never booked it to the precinct so fast before, but LA traffic still gives her an hour and a half long ride. Lucifer talks the entire time.

* * *

It’s another two blessed hours before she sees Lucifer again. She enters the room behind the one-way mirror. Dan is standing there with his arms crossed, frown evident on his face.

She looks past the glass, and is surprised to see Lucifer looking right at her, waving. She turns to Dan expectantly, who just shrugs. “I don’t know how he’s doing it, but he can see us, and hear everything we’re saying”, he says exasperatedly.

Dan continues, “We’ve adjusted the lighting every way possible. Every pair of cuffs we’ve put him in he’s gotten out of. He’s like— some kind of freaking magician”.

“Or the devil”, Lucifer says, chiming in.

Dan sighs and rests his head in his hand, “And there’s that”, he says.

Chloe looks at Lucifer, who responds by wagging his eyebrows at her. “Well, he definitely looks like a magician. A homeless one”, she says. Lucifer looks affronted.

“I’ll talk to him,” she says, and enters the interrogation room, sitting across from him.

Before she can even start, he says, “Zeke didn’t do it”.

“How do you know that? I thought you said you couldn’t see the shooter”, she says.

“Ah, I couldn’t, but I know Zeke. Well, I know his type. Spineless, always hiding behind someone bigger, avoiding doing any dirty work”, he explains.

“If it wasn’t Zeke, who was it?”

He thinks for a moment, “Allan Levine? I believe that’s the fellow that was in charge of that whole operation”.

She writes the name down, though she suspects Fish and Wildlife is already investigating him. “That still leaves motive. Why shoot his own employee and then leave behind all of his supply?”

Lucifer shrugs, “Perhaps Sandra found out something she shouldn’t have. Perhaps she was going to tell someone and that risk was worth killing her”.

Chloe narrows her eyes slightly. “What did she find out?”, she asks.

“That sirens are real and that her fool of a boss intended to traffick one to the highest bidder”, he says.

Chloe almost drops her head into her hands in frustration. She settles for resting her forehead in her hand, elbow propped on the table as she reviews the papers in front of her. _Maybe Sandra did find something out, something she shouldn’t have. But if she did, why didn’t she run? There just doesn’t seem like enough motive for Zeke or Allan to murder her_ , she thinks, _and this guy still isn’t entirely off the table either._

The intercom suddenly crackles to life as Dan’s voice comes through the initial static, “Hey, Chlo, we have Zeke in custody”, he says.

She gathers her files and stands, “Alright, Mr. Morningstar. Thank you for your. . .cooperation. Please stay in town, the prosecution will need your testimony at the trial”, she explains.

He merely gives her an amused smile.

She gives him a brief nod and heads out of the room, back into the room behind the glass. Dan clears his throat and whispers, trying to keep Lucifer from overhearing Chloe belatedly realizes, “Are we keeping him?”.

She sighs and crosses her arms, resting her file on her hip. She whispers back, “I— I don’t know. Forensics showed no gunshot residue on his hands, he can barely walk on his own, and he’s obviously out of his mind”.

She mulls it over. “He was wet, so he could’ve washed the residue off, and he could be faking the— injury, or fatigue, or whatever. Forensics haven’t been able to find anyone named ‘Lucifer Morningstar’ living in LA, or anyone who’s been issued a passport by that name in the past 5 years. I mean, we haven’t even been able to find anyone using that as a stage name”, she says, “No cell phone or wallet either. It’s like he doesn’t exist”.

“So you think he’s a suspect?” Dan asks.

She pauses, then shakes her head. “No. .my gut is telling me it isn’t him. But bring Zeke in, I’ll see if he knows more about Lucifer. Send him to one of the holding cells for now”.

Dan nods and exits the room with her. Shes watches as two officers escort Lucifer out, back in his wheelchair. He gives her a thumbs up and a grin as one of the officers steers him to a holding cell. Zeke is brought in by a different officer, and she steps in after, shutting the door behind her.

* * *

The shooter isn’t Zeke. There’s not a shred of gunshot residue on him, he doesn’t own a gun that matches the bullet found at the scene, and he’s an inconsolable mess. She can’t help but feel bad for him, even if he was the one that got Sandra involved. Also frustratingly, he doesn't know anything about Lucifer. Apparently his work extended to cleaning up the boats the smuggling ring used and not much else.

Allan Levine is looking more and more like suspect number one, and he’s suspiciously gone missing.

By the time she’s wrapped up her interrogation, had lunch, and filled out a report, it’s already 5pm. Dan has Trixie tonight, so she plans on going straight home and treating herself to a bubble bath. 

She’s nearly out the door when she notices Lucifer eating a cup of pudding, sitting on her desk, wheelchair beside him. What the hell is he still doing here? She thinks.

She walks over and gives him an incredulous look. He stares at her for a moment, a bit of brown pudding near his lip. He licks it off and holds the cup out to her, “Sorry, did you want some?”, he asks.

“What? No— what are you still doing here? You should’ve been dismissed hours ago”, she says.

“Hm? Oh! I was dismissed, but I can’t exactly get home myself. I don’t have a ride,” he states, picking up a stapled dismissal form and waving it slightly.

“You can’t order a cab?”, she asks.

“No money”, he says, looking unbothered.

She can’t. She can’t offer, she doesn’t need to add another hour or two to her commute, someone else will drive him. Still, she can’t stop herself from grabbing the dismissal form and glancing it over. It’s got his witness statement on top, handwritten in fancy, looping cursive.

**“Street address:** Fluctuates with the currents. Presently located in the Pacific Ocean along the coast of Southern California.  
**City/Zip/State:** See above.  
**Phone number:** None.  
**Date of Birth:** Unknown.  
**Occupation:** Punisher of evil—" is as far as she gets.

She motions for him to get back in the wheelchair. “Come on, I’ll take you back home”, she says defeatedly. He slides back in, finishing his pudding and tossing it into the nearest trash can with a perfect arc. She rolls her eyes and starts pushing him out to the lot.

She speeds through getting him buckled in the front seat and returning the wheelchair. She starts her car and pulls out of the lot, “Do you want me to uhm, to drive you to a clinic? Or hospital”, she asks.

He balks at her question, looking at her as if she’s absurd for asking. Then he laughs, a real laugh that makes her think of musical chimes. “No, I’m quite alright, I assure you. Just take me to the nearest pier. A quiet one, much preferably”, he says.

She nods a few times, trying to shake the ringing of his laugh out of her ears. “Sure, I can do that. Just tell me if you change your mind”, she says.

They fall into an idle conversation as she drives, with Lucifer doing most of the talking. She blinks when she realizes she’s pulled into the tiny parking lot of a small public beach. His constant chatting had completely distracted her from the length of the drive.

She frowns as she looks out the front window. She can’t see any houses nearby. She opens her mouth to ask where he intends to stay, but he’s already opening the side car door and stepping out.

She rushes out, afraid he’ll fall again, but he’s already walking toward the beach; his arms are spread out to his sides as he walks wobbly, trying to balance himself.

She runs up to meet him, and stays close to catch him in case he loses his rhythm.

He looks up for a moment, sighing almost. . .wistfully? “It’s such a shame. You used to be able to see every star on clear nights like this”, he says.

She looks up at the sky, an opaque purple-ish color from the light of the city. “Yeah, I bet it’d be really pretty”, she says, not knowing what else to say.

They make it to the pier, and he walks all the way to the end. She stays behind a few feet, looking around. Again, she notes that there’s nowhere to rest, let alone live. She turns away from him, looking further down the beach. “Lucifer, do you not have a place to st—“, she cuts off, interrupted by a loud splash.

She runs to the end, looking around frantically. She can’t see Lucifer anywhere, just froth and bubbles from where he presumably fell in. She’s rolling up her sleeves, preparing to dive in when a faint blue glow distracts her.

She looks up, out at the water. Something luminescent and fast is swimming away from the pier.

There, silhouetted against the horizon’s setting sun and the smooth water, she sees an enormous tail break the sea surface. It flicks up into the air, resplendent and covered in blue pricks of light, then sinks back under the water and disappears.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: *spends first few chapters just establishing deckerstar bc the show has been cockblocking me for FOUR SEASONS*  
> don't worry tho lads there is Juicy Plot™ coming.

It’s been three days since Lucifer disappeared, and she has to admit, she’s become a bit obsessed. She spends hours in the late evenings researching marine life. After googling countless fish, whales, sharks, porpoises, and more, she still hasn’t found anything that comes even close to what she saw. She’s beginning to think she imagined the entire thing, but when her co-workers ask where Lucifer had her drop him off, all she can do is shrug.

‘Logical’ explanations range from him being an undercover British agent using a secret submarine to her hallucinating the entire departure.

She struggles more and more each day to focus on work. _He was right_ , she thinks to herself one evening, deep in research, _it does bother me that I can’t figure him out._

* * *

That night, she dreams of the ocean again. This time, the water is filled with dots of blue light, gracefully drifting around her. She thinks she can hear someone laughing, the same melodic sound that filled her head when Lucifer laughed. She feels peaceful, no pool of dread settling deep in her chest like her previous dreams.

She wakes abruptly to the sound of her alarm clock, and she hits snooze forcefully. She glares at the clock contemptibly, and forces herself out of bed, into a cool shower.

She shambles her way through her morning routine and arrives at work feeling half awake. Her unsolved case file taunts her on her desk, and she opens it just to look like she’s doing something. She already has the details memorized, after all.

The case of Sandra O’Shea’s murder has been a nightmare. The shot fired that killed her entered at an incline- whether this meant the shooter was just a poor shot or if Sandra wasn’t really the target, she doesn’t know. Cyber wasn’t able to recover any footage from the security cameras. Zeke has no new information to give, and she can’t contact her key witness. Worst of all, her lead suspect, Allan Levine is still missing.

She spends the day chasing down half baked leads, dissecting crumbs of evidence, and re-questioning Zeke. Nothing comes of it, other than a massive tension headache as she starts driving home.

She grits her teeth, her face pulled into a scowl as she drives along a highway. She needs to figure this puzzle out, and the only way to do that is to find Lucifer. She changes course, heading back toward that little beach where he disappeared.

* * *

She pulls her jacket tighter over herself as she walks barefoot on the sand. The breeze brings a chill with it now that the sun has set.

No one is on the beach, and the only man made structure nearby is a small lifeguard’s shed. The beach itself is cocooned by palm fronds and trees, blocking the view of the highway. She reaches the end of the pier and looks around, hoping to find something, anything.

She sits down on the weathered boards, letting her legs dangle over the edge, just above the surface of the water. She sighs and checks her phone, chastising herself for thinking there’d be anything out of the ordinary. 

She looks up at the sky, squinting, trying to find a star in the clear sky. She remembers his oddly uncharacteristic comment about them; in the brief time she’d spent with him, it was the only thing he’d said that seemed to come from a place of authentic sentiment. 

Her mind drifts to their conversations. He’d spent the long car rides with her talking the entire time, completely enraptured by things she’d considered mundane. He’d loved the radio in particular— acting as though he’d never seen one before.

She remembers his charisma upon meeting him, his amusement, and most of all, his chattiness. She reviews her notepad from when she’d interviewed him. _I have very good hearing_ , he’d said.

She glances around the beach again, quickly, making sure she’s still alone. She wonders how desperate she is for a break in the case (or an explanation), her mind betrays.

Desperate enough to try something stupid, apparently. She pockets her notepad and stands. Then she places her hands by her mouth and calls out, “Hey! Lucifer!”.

She stands there, listening to the palms sway in the breeze, feeling like an idiot.

Shaking herself off a little, reminding herself she’s alone, she yells again, “If— If you’re there, can we talk? I need your help!”

Nothing. She thinks, for a brief moment, she sees a shooting star streak across the sky.

* * *

It becomes a routine to visit the beach on her way home, when Dan has Trixie. She parks her car in the lot and either walks along the shore or sits at the end of the pier. On rare occasions, there are other people at the beach. Sometimes they’re taking walks, sometimes they’re docking their boats at the pier, and other times they’re just relaxing on the sand.

When she’s alone, she talks out loud. She tells herself she’s doing it to process each day— she thinks it’s something she read once in a Women’s Health magazine while waiting at the dentist. But she knows who she’s really addressing.

On this night, several weeks later, she’s standing at the end of the pier. It’s been a hot day, even for Los Angeles. She’s stripped down to a cotton t-shirt and khakis. Even with it being dusk, the heat is still stifling.

She’s sweating, not only from the heat, but from stress as well. With no new leads and a lack of progress, Sandra’s case will be closed by the end of the week. She’s lucky she got this long to begin with.

She lowers herself to sit crossed legged on the end of the pier. “So, that’s it. They’re going to close Sandra’s case. I’ve exhausted every lead but you, pal. I don’t know what to do”, she tells the empty air.

“Last chance to help, Lucifer, if you’re out there”.

She watches the waves come in tiredly, when slowly, in the distance, a blob of faint blue light appears just beneath the surface. She furrows her brow and squints. It looks like the light she’d seen before—

It rapidly approaches the pier, and she scrambles backward with a yelp, sure it’ll burst out of the water as soon as it reaches her. She shuts her eyes and throws her arms out in front of her, preparing for impact.

But nothing happens. In fact, when she opens her eyes, she can’t see any blue light between the wooden slates of the pier. She inches her way back to the edge and peeks at the water below.

“Detective!”, Lucifer chirps, his torso sticking out of the water.

She shoves herself away again, managing to move due to some primal fear response. All the blood rushes to her head and all she can hear is her blood rushing in her ears. She struggles to breathe, her heart palpitating under the stress. Dimly, she tries to recall her crisis training— how to come down from a panic attack.

She swallows, cringing on her now dry throat. She takes deep breaths, and forces herself to look over the pier’s edge again.

Lucifer is still there, looking a bit sheepish.

She can’t help but stare. Superficially, she’d say he looks almost exactly the same. He has the same face, same dark hair and dark eyes, even the same stubble. But the differences are marked.

He has large, black fins on the sides of his face— each spoke separated by a semi-transparent membrane. His arms are covered in small, smooth scales, which spread over his collarbones and shoulders. His arms are punctuated by another pair of fins that protrude from his forearms to his elbows. His fingers are webbed and end in black claws. Deep grooves align his neck and the sides of his torso— _gills_ , she thinks.

She can’t see anything below his waist, but there’s a hint of more black scales trailing on his sides. She tries not to think about what he looks like from the hips down.

“Detective?”, he asks, breaking the silence.

When he talks she notices all his teeth are sharp; they’re broader than shark teeth but much sharper than human incisors. She thinks she’s going to scream, or laugh, but all she manages to do is make a squeaking sound.

He raises an eyebrow, sinking into the water a bit. Tentatively, he swims over to where she’s propped herself up on one of the pier’s pillars.

“Detective? You called for me?” he asks.

“You’re real”, she blurts breathlessly, “I’m not hallucinating”.

“Of course I’m real”, he says with a tilt of his head. “My apologies, Detective. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I assumed you knew what to expect when you called me”.

She shakes her head and laughs, almost manically. “Uh, no— no I did not know what to expect. Definitely not this”.

She gestures at him frantically, vaguely, desperately, “How— How are you— What are you?”, she finally decides on.

He tilts his head in the other direction, looking both amused and apologetic. “There’s not really a proper word for us in your language. Angel is close, but as I said to you before, none of us are winged. Siren is more accurate, technically”.

“Us?”, she asks weakly.

“My siblings and I. There are many of us”, he explains.

“So you’re all— you’re all, angels? Wait, wait, wait— you said you’re the devil. That’s true?”,

“I never lie, Detective. Though I can assure you I’m not here to spread sin, or steal your soul, or whatever it is humanity claims I do nowadays. My job is to punish evil, not incite it”.

“But what about Heaven? And Hell? If you’re all underwater, where are they? Are they real?”

He gives a slight sigh, “I suppose I should’ve expected you’d have questions. But yes, both Heaven and Hell are real. Both are hidden, in a way, though”.

He continues, “Hell is at the bottom of the ocean, deep in the abyss, but it’s also at the bottom of everything. I can really only describe it as: it’s down. Heaven is the opposite: it’s up.”

She nods, tears pricking her eyes. Angels, Heaven, and Hell, are all real. Maybe demons are too, and presumably, God as well. She wipes at her eyes. Existential terror is beginning to set in, and she feels like she’s at the top of a roller coaster, expecting to drop at any moment.

She clears her throat, but her voice wavers anyway, “What are you doing here?”.

“Believe it or not, Hell is just as much of a punishment for me as it is for the souls being punished in it. It’s unbearably hot, the pressure is immense, and the company, when present, leaves much to be desired. I like to come up to the surface when I can to get away from it”, he says, “I needed a vacation. Hell has been unbearable as of late”.

She laughs again, incredulously. “So the Devil really is a British merman who was captured by exotic animal smugglers. Oh, and he’s here on the surface for a vacation”. She snorts, and laughs again, helplessly. She slowly lies down on her side.

“This can’t be real”, she says, barely above a whisper, “It just can’t. This doesn’t happen”.

He looks up at her sympathetically.

“Detective, you said you needed my help? With the case?”

She nods, feeling faint. She wonders if she would’ve actually fainted if she hadn’t lied down.

“We’re out of leads. No one can find Allan Levine— the suspect you told me about before”.

He perks up, “Oh, Detective, if that was all you needed then why didn’t you just say so! I can have him brought in by tomorrow at the latest”.

She sits up in shock. “You can?”

“Easily! Well, I can’t personally, but I can put my best demon on the case to track him down. And bring him in alive”, he adds quickly.

“Demon?”

“Yes, her name is Mazikeen. I brought her with me beyond the gates of hell, for protection. Many of my siblings won’t be happy to learn I’ve left”.

“Demons are real.”

He nods.

“Do you want me to have her find Allan?”, he asks.

“No! I mean— I, I don’t know. She won’t hurt him?”

He stares at her for a few moments too long for her liking. Finally, he replies, “She won’t, if I tell her not to”.

She nods, slowly, “Right. I— I guess, then? That’d be okay?”

“Lovely! I’ll ask her now—“, he says while turning to swim off.

“Wait!”, she yells frantically before she can stop herself.

He pauses, and looks back up at her.

“I— You have to understand that this, this all—“, she gestures in vague circles at him, “it’s too much for me. How am I supposed to deal with this? God is real, Heaven and Hell are real, and oh yeah, I know Satan?! But hey, don’t worry, he’s actually a pretty cool guy, and he’s a _merman_!”

She can feel her eyes welling up with tears, threatening to spill over.

Lucifer looks uncomfortable, and even more so as she feels a tear run down her cheek. She wonders briefly if he has any experience with human emotions. _Does he even feel things like a human does?_ she wonders. She can see him internally squirming, but she can’t bring herself to reassure him.

“I know someone you can talk to, who might be able to help you. . process. Dr. Linda Martin, she’s a therapist. She knows about me”, he says.

She blinks. “Linda Martin?”

“M-a-r-t-i-n”, he spells, “just tell her you’re a friend of Lucifer’s. She’ll understand”.

“How— How many other people know?”

“How many humans know? At the moment, just you and her. Mortals and divinity don’t tend to mix well”, he explains, “That’s why I didn’t show the first few times you called for me”.

She furrows her brow in confusion, “But— why now?”

“You seemed like you were ready to give up. I didn’t like the idea of that poor girl going unavenged”.

“Why didn’t you just come back to the precinct in your— your human form?”, she asks tentatively.

“I had no way to get to you. I don’t know your precinct’s address, don’t own a car, and I have no money”.

He pauses, then continues, “I suppose I could have waited here for you in that form, but something tells me that would’ve bothered you”.

She stares at him, blankly. She thinks she would have only had more questions if he’d shown up waiting for her at the pier, as if he’d been listening the entire time.

She takes a deep breath and nods, shakily. “Thank you. For your help with the case, and for— for showing me”, she laughs breathlessly, “I uhm. I have to admit it had been bothering me— trying to uhm- to explain. .you”, she finishes lamely.

He looks surprised. “You’re welcome”, he says warily, as if not expecting her gratitude.

She wipes the tears off her cheeks, straightens her jacket, and tries to compose herself. With goals in mind, seeing Dr. Martin and questioning Allan, she has something grounded in reality to focus on. Well, mortal reality, she supposes.

“Will I see you again?”, she asks.

He seems more surprised. “You want to see me again? But— you’ve just learnt who I am. The Devil? Satan? Old Scratch? The Prince of Darkness, and all?”

“Yeah, well. .The Devil is supposed to be a big red guy with horns, hooves, a pointy tail and— and you’re obviously none of those things. Besides, if there’s anything I’ve learned growing up in LA, it’s that the media is biased”, she says, “I’m guessing humanity’s gotten a lot of other things wrong about you”.

He looks at her like a man seeing the sun for the first time. She feels her cheeks begin to flush.

“And I might end up having more questions, if that’s okay?”, she prompts after she begins to feel her face heating up at his gaze.

“Right! Yes, of course, I would be happy to answer any and all questions you may have. Hold on a moment— I may not have a phone, but I do have something you can contact me with”.

He dives back underwater, and she catches a glimpse of his tail as he turns. She can tell that it’s black, scaled like his arms, and has a large fin running along the spine.

She sits and waits. The incredulity of the entire situation begins to sink in, and she almost laughs again. She pulls out her phone and searches for Linda Martin’s number, trying to busy herself.

Lucifer pops back up moments later, and she pockets her phone. He holds up what appears to be a necklace, with a bronze shell pendant dangling from the center. “Here you are! Just blow on the shell, and I’ll hear you. It has quite a long range”.

She gingerly takes the necklace. The shell is curled into a spiral, and has an empty spoke on the end, presumably to blow into. It’s strung on a thin bronze chain. It’s beautiful, she thinks.

She unhooks the magnetic clasp and puts it on. The chain is short, so it lies like a choker around her neck.

“I originally made it for Maze, in case she needed my help, but, well. I don’t think there’s anything scarier in the sea than her”, he chuckles.

“You made this?”

He nods. “I have a thing for metals”.

“A thing?”, she asks, while looking down at the pendant.

“All sirens have at least one role to fulfill. We get an ability that fits with that role, usually to help us, but sometimes it’s just a neat sort of side effect. My ability is all about desire. People tell me what they truly want, their deepest secrets, that sort of jazz”, he says, “But before I fell, I had a different role. Control over metals was my matching ability”.

She wants to ask about what he means by fell, but stops herself. She doesn’t have the most in depth biblical knowledge, but she vaguely remembers learning about the angel, Lucifer, in Sunday school. Cast out of Heaven for his hubris, or for starting a war, or for both, she can’t remember. She realizes she now has no idea if any of that is accurate.

“Detective?”, he asks. She shakes herself out of her thoughts.

“Sorry, it’s just— it’s beautiful”.

He preens, beaming. “Thank you. Feel free to call me at any time, alright?”

She nods. Looking down at his overjoyed expression, from one simple compliment, she can’t reconcile him with the Devil she learned about when she was a child. She needs to research.

“I should get going, but thanks again, for all your help. I’ll see you tomorrow”. She balks at herself, where had that come from? Tomorrow?

“Lovely! I’ll have Mazikeen deliver Allan to you, if you’ll just give me your precinct’s address?”

She rattles off the address while standing and gathering herself. She heads for her car, but takes a moment to look back.

She sees a tail silhouetted against the horizon, before it disappears beneath the waves. She grips the pendant and smiles.

* * *

She wakes up early the next morning, mind buzzing. She downs a cup of coffee, but adrenaline already has her wide awake by the time she’s dressed and wolfed down a piece of toast.

She has a new notebook started, her laptop open, and a few hours before work to research.

She flies through site after site, page after page. First “Lucifer”, which leads her down an astronomical internet hole of the planet Venus. Described as the dawn bringer, the shining one, the morning star. She writes: The blue lights?, and underlines it.

She reads wiki pages for fallen angels, Satan, and the Devil. She writes more down, notes, questions, references to sites, and even quick doodles of prominent biblical paintings and statues. She googles “siren”, and “angel”, she reads about Abraham, and she memorizes etymology. Lucifer is composed of Latin, “Lux-Lucis”, and “Ferre”, meaning light and to bring.

The seven archangels, Lucifer’s siblings? Raphael, the healer, Michael, who is like God. Samael, venom of God, part of the Demiurge—

Her alarm startles her out of her thoughts. She sighs and sits back in her chair, reviewing what she has written in her notebook. She looks at what she wrote in red— the most important.

**Lucis-ferre: light bringer. Lucifer is not a proper name but an adjective (?). Dawn. Venus.  
The blue lights? ROLE before he fell? Did he fall literally?**

**~~Manifestation of evil~~ Inaccurate? God’s subservient prosecutor. Punisher of evil = desire power.  
Manipulative, Prince of Lies (claims to never lie?). “The Devil” is less common in meaning— “a devil” is more accurate. Devil doesn’t describe one person. Colloquially the Devil?**

**Fallen angels rebelled with him. WAR ON HEAVEN? ~~Fallen angels are demons~~ fallen angels’ monstrous progeny are demons? Mazikeen (Maze).** ****

**Archangels not mentioned in Bible but in Greek New Testament. Seven archangels in Book of Tobit: Jegudiel, Gabriel, Selaphiel, Michael, Uriel, Raphael, Barachiel. Archangels different from angels?**

****

**Samael = Satan? Also an archangel  
** **Samael is Lucifer?  
** **Rode a serpent to Eve to tempt her and destroy Adam. Father of Cain, betrothed to Lilith, Father of demons?? How much of the Garden is true?**

She sighs and shuts her notebook, shoving it in her bookbag. She’s more confused than she was before, and she doesn’t know what to believe. 

Almost all the sources she found proclaimed Lucifer to be the root of all evil, in one form or another. Even in the cases where he’s listed as a punisher, he’s said to incite suffering to test mortal loyalty to God.

_If he’s supposed to be evil, why would he help me?, she thinks. She tries to tackle her reasoning like a case. Okay, motive. What could he possibly want if he was trying to manipulate me? . . ._

She can’t think of anything. She’s just Chloe Jane Decker, one insignificant mortal among a population of billions. If he was trying to tempt her into evil, not only was he doing a bad job of it, but it’s a pretty inefficient way to spread sin.

_He could be planning a long con?_ , she thinks. But again, for what purpose? She has no vast wealth, she isn’t a corrupt cop, and she doesn’t have any powerful connections. Even infiltrating the LAPD seems beneath who he’s supposed to be.

She stands up and pops down another slice of bread into the toaster. Staring out the window, absentmindedly playing with the pendant of the necklace he gave her, she thinks. She needs a character witness.

* * *

She arrives at the precinct early, and stops when she sees a woman sitting at her desk.

“Hello? Can I help you?”, she asks.

The woman has her boots propped on her desk, and she’s playing with a Rubik’s cube she likely pilfered from someone else’s cubicle.

She looks up at Chloe, regarding her with a sort of bemused intensity. She’s wearing a revealing, skin-tight leather outfit, and her hair is tied back into a long, wavy ponytail. The only thing more catching than her beauty is her crop top, which is silver and gray, and appears to be made out of fish scales. 

She runs her tongue over her teeth before speaking, “You must be ‘The Detective’”

Chloe nods, “Oh, you’re uhm— Mazikeen, right?”.

The woman grins up at her. “Your guy is in the holding cell. Real whiny, too, but I gotta say, hunting him down was fun. Want me to make him talk?”

The encroaching realization that this woman is a demon is threatening to rob Chloe of her voice. She pales a bit, and swallows thickly.

She puts on her best polite-but-authoritative-policewoman facade, “No, that’s okay, but thank you. Really, you have no idea how much this will help, Mazikeen”.

Mazikeen nods a few times. “Call me Maze.”

She pauses, then continues after sweeping another exaggerated look over Chloe, “You’re cute. I can see why he likes you”.

Despite it being a compliment on the surface, she can’t help but feel like Maze was talking about her as if she was a new toy. _Am I his new toy?_ , she thinks with dread.

“He uhm— he talked about me?”, she asks.

Maze rolls her eyes, “Ugh, you have no idea. He would. Not. Shut. Up.”

She poorly imitates Lucifer’s accent, “The Detective said she wants to see me again. You have to find this Allan chap so she’ll want to visit again”.

Chloe feels like she’s going to blush, but frowns after Maze finishes mocking him. “Does he think I only want to see him because he can help with the case?”, she asks.

Maze raises an eyebrow, looking at her like she’s an idiot. “I mean, duh. Why else would you want to talk to him?”.

“Because I like talking to him?”

Maze stares at her for a moment, and then throws her head back and laughs. “Oh man, Decker, I didn’t expect you to be funny!”, she says while standing up. “I’ll see you around, m’kay?”.

Before Chloe can respond, Maze has smacked her butt and stalked out.

She takes a slow sip of her coffee and retreats to her now vacant desk.

* * *

Allan proves to be useful. He not only cooperates wholeheartedly with questioning, but begs to be put in prison, “I’d do anything to get away from her!”

He tells her how he was hired by a man to capture an exotic creature that lived somewhere off the coast, near the city. 

She takes a few quick notes to make a profile of the man. Tall,  
black, mid 30s-40s. Very serious and stern looking. Wearing all grey.

He said it wasn’t easy tracking the creature, but eventually he managed to catch it off guard by pinning it against a sand bank.

“I— I swear I thought it was just a fish or somethin’! I didn’t know it was— I—“, he wrung his hands, biting his lip and looking at her with wild, pleading eyes.

She tries to keep her best poker face.

“You don’t understand, it was, it was some kind of monster. It talked. You won’t believe me but it fuckin’ talked, I swear”, he says, “I had to kill it. It was gonna escape, I knew it was— and it was gonna hurt someone! It was way too smart to be kept in a tank forever”, he shakes his head.

He runs his hand through his hair, “Sandra found out what I was planning— she kept telling me not to hurt it. I waited til she was off her shift. I was gonna shoot it, not her. I— I didn’t expect her to be there, she was supposed to be home”.

“Tell me what happened, Allan. Step by step, okay?”, she asks.

He swallows and nods. “I went into the warehouse. I was gonna climb the ladder and bait it to the surface to shoot it. But Sandra was there— she startled me. I shot her before she could turn around, ‘cause I knew she was gonna try to stop me”.

“But you didn’t shoot the ‘exotic creature’? Only one bullet was found”.

“I was going to, but it— it changed when I shot her”. He shudders. He looks genuinely terrified.

“I ran away as fast as I could. I don’t care if I go to jail the rest of my life— as long as I’m away from that thing and its batshit lackey”.

Chloe looks down at the case file in front of her. She has everything she needs— a confession, physical evidence, and motive, even if the motive would seem fueled by hysteria to the jury.

She could wrap up the questioning now. She shuts the manila folder.

“Allan. .this creature, can you describe it for me?”, she asks.

He flinches, then looks around as if worried someone might be listening. “You won’t believe me anyway”.

“Please answer the question”, she says.

“It— It looked like a guy, okay? A fucking guy, except it had this huge fish tail. And these massive fins that were like. .they were like. .”, Chloe notes his expression changing dramatically. He assumes a look of pure bliss as he stares off behind her. 

“Like wings”, he says finally, “the prettiest things I’ve ever seen”.

“You said he— it, changed, after you shot Sandra?”.

He reverts back to his horrified demeanor as soon as the question leaves her mouth. He does nothing but nod in response.

“How did it change?”, she asks. She needs to know. Even if she doesn’t like the answer, she needs to know.

He breathes heavily. A bead of sweat forms on his temple. “It looked like— like someone lit it on fire. It was all red, and burnt, and its eyes glowed red. It was angry— angry at me, I could tell”. He shudders again, and squeezes his eyes shut.

She picks up the case file and rises, feeling a bit weak. “Thank you for your cooperation, Allan”.

She walks out of the interrogation room and all but collapses at her desk. She pulls out the notebook she’d been writing in earlier that morning and jots down: **Devil form?.**


End file.
